


wherever you would call me

by inexhaustible



Series: call my name [2]
Category: DAYS (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Unrequited Crush, i don't really know what i'm doing tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-13
Updated: 2017-01-13
Packaged: 2018-09-17 04:55:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9305813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inexhaustible/pseuds/inexhaustible
Summary: it's fine as long as they're happy, right?or: the one where kurusu doesn't have a crush on kazama, because – that'd be weird.(companion piece to let me hear you, though this can be read as a standalone.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> hit me up @tsukujin on tumblr, where you can shoot me some requests!
> 
> if you want to chat with some of the days writers, you can join a shibakimi chat here: https://discord.gg/6WvZdqr
> 
> as always, comments and kudos are appreciated!

Hiroyuki’s feeling good about making Seiseki. He knows he’s got the strength, the speed, and the  _ charisma  _ he needs to become a star playmaker. For a first year, he’s doing pretty well.

And then Kazama Jin strides onto the field, exuding confidence, all long hair and sly smiles, and something in Hiroyuki’s world tilts on its axis, zeroing in on Kazama’s plays. Kazama manipulates the ball with grace, making it look effortless, blond hair like a veil around his face when he dives for an interception.

– so he idolizes the guy a little bit, but really: can you blame him?

 

* * *

 

It’s around the time of the first training camp when he realizes that something’s up.

Hiroyuki’s lounging around in one of the hot baths, letting the water soothe his sore muscles, when Tsukamoto awkwardly inches over to him, eyes wide.

“Kurusu-kun,” he starts, “what was Kazama-kun like in middle school?”

Hiroyuki tries to recall seeing Kazama in action on the field, but recalls only the sting of crushing defeat against his team.

“Dunno. He wasn’t able to play in the final match of the junior Nats,” he offers, and Tsukamoto looks thoughtful.  _ Wonder what’s on that shrimp’s mind. _

“Oi,” he says, leaning over and prodding Tsukamoto in the center of his chest. “What makes someone good at soccer?” 

Tsukamoto blinks, and then raises a hand excitedly.  _ He’s like a puppy, geez. _ “O-oh, scoring goals!” Hiroyuki resists the urge to slap him, growling in frustration.

“You idiot,” he says, “that’s not it. It’s the way they handle the ball, the way they act on the field. Kazama…” Hiroyuki pauses, swallowing.  _ He’s goddamn amazing, that’s what he is. He’s –  _

He’s pretty sure he wasn’t going to complete that thought with  _ hot _ , but it comes to mind unbidden and he recoils, internally. 

“Kazama’s control is watertight. That guy… his talent is natural. When he plays, it’s graceful, elegant – that’s real soccer. That’s how you can tell that he’s  _ good. _ ” Hiroyuki leans back, crossing his arms. In his mind, he replays the goal Kazama scored in their last practice match, the way he’d executed a perfect feint, dodging a defender’s slide by kicking the ball up into the air, jumping over the enemy player with infuriating grace, lining up the shot and scoring it easily into the back of the net. Hiroyuki thinks about the way Kazama’d smiled, brushing his bangs back out of his face and lifting the hem of his shirt up to dab at the sweat on his face, and his face heats up.

He slides under the surface of the water, trying not to think about it. He’s just confused, and it’s Kazama’s fault, anyways. If he just – if he just cut his hair, like a normal guy, if he stopped looking so  _ goddamn _ feminine all the time –

Guilt stops his thoughts in his tracks, and he sighs, blowing bubbles out into the bath.  _ Nah. It’s me.  _ Distantly, he hears Tsukamoto make a small noise of alarm.

_ What the fuck am I doing? _

 

* * *

 

It only gets worse from there. 

Once he’s started to  _ notice _ things, it’s like a switch has been flipped, and before he knows it Hiroyuki’s eyes are locked on Kazama every game, as if he can’t look away. 

“You must be really jealous, huh,” Nitobe mutters, next to him, and Hiroyuki elbows him in the side indignantly.  _ Yeah, if only it was that. _ He looks away, clenching his fingers against the bench, feeling self-disgust threaten to swallow him whole. He shouldn’t be thinking these things about his teammates. It’s – it’s traitorous.  _ Disgusting. _

There are words for what he is, and none of them are kind.

It’s – it’s not as if he hasn’t noticed this before, the way he’d never been able to focus on girls the way his peers had, how it’d been the glimpses of skin in the locker room that’d set something tight in his stomach, that’d made heat flush up the back of his neck. Hiroyuki shuts his eyes, trying to distract himself. It’s a betrayal of his friends, of his team. If he just tries harder, he’s sure these feelings will go away. It’s just a matter of time.

It’s a weakness, a character flaw, and Hiroyuki hates himself for it, pushes himself harder, desperate to prove to himself that he’s masculine enough. It’s pathetic, and he knows it. 

A snap in front of his face shakes him out of his reverie, and he turns to see Nitobe, watching him with a strange expression.

“Are you sick, or something? What’s up with you today?”

Hiroyuki glances back to the field, just as Kazama scores a goal, triumphant smile lighting up his face and setting sparks loose in Hiroyuki’s gut, and he swallows thickly, mouth suddenly dry and parched.

“No,” he grits out. “I’m fine.”

 

* * *

 

It’s at a home game when it happens.

Kazama has control of the ball, dribbling it across the field and avoiding most of their defense skillfully, dodging their goalie with a quick back pass to Mizuki that gets returned to him quickly. He lines up for the shot, and Hiroyuki sees what’s going to happen a split second before it does.

A defender catches up to Kazama, kicking out for the ball, and hits Kazama’s leg, hard. It buckles, and Kazama stumbles, just as the defender clears the ball, sending his knee straight into the side of Kazama’s head. 

“Kazama-kun!” Tsukamoto screams, already running to his side. Where he lies on the field, Kazama is deadly still, and Hiroyuki gets to his feet, hands fisted at his sides. He’s striding forward when Coach Nakazawa grabs the back of his shirt, pulling him back.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Hiroyuki fumes, pointing at the enemy player. “That bastard –”

“Sit down, Kurusu,” Nakazawa orders, and Hiroyuki breathes deeply, casting a sharp glare across the field before complying. Tsukamoto is fretting over Kazama’s prone figure, Ooshiba’s hand already bunched up in the enemy player’s collar. Hiroyuki sees Kimishita pull Ooshiba back, and the other team’s defender quickly backs up, hands held up in an apologetic gesture. The referee calls for a stretcher, and Kazama is quickly carted off the field, Tsukamoto being subbed in to take his place.

_ Kazama… _

The rest of the game passes by in a flash, and the minute Tsukamoto’s off the field he’s in Hiroyuki’s face, tears already pooling in his eyes.  _ Don’t give me that look…  _

“Kurusu-kun, you have a car, right?”

“I’m the same age as you, dumbass! I’m not even legally allowed to drive yet! It’s my dad’s car.”

Tsukamoto stares him down, insistently. “Kazama-kun’s at the hospital only fifteen minutes away from school.”

“What’s your point?” Hiroyuki knows exactly what his point is, and rubs at his face with a tired hand. “Agh, fine. But two rules: first, you don’t tell anybody about this.”

“And the second?”

“You ride in the backseat – quietly. And don’t even think about crying in my car, y’hear?!”

“I-I’ll try my best!” Tsukamoto exclaims, bowing over and over again. Hiroyuki slaps him across the head, hissing.

“Shut up, idiot, the others will hear. Now change, and let’s go.”

 

* * *

 

When they get to the hospital, Kazama’s still out cold. Hiroyuki sighs, glancing around the spartan room. It’s mostly empty, aside from Kazama’s bed, an assortment of medical equipment that Hiroyuki’s too afraid to touch, and a bunch of cheap-ass plastic chairs placed across from Kazama’s feet. Tsukamoto dives into a chair, exhaustion evident in the way he sprawls out, head lolling back in the seat.

“Oi, don’t take up all the chairs,” Hiroyuki grumbles, rolling his eyes when Tsukamoto jumps up, apologizing profusely. 

“Shut up,” Hiroyuki mutters, taking the seat farthest from him. He gestures to Kazama with his head, breathing out wearily. “We’ve got a long wait ahead of us, apparently.”

Tsukamoto stills, sitting back down, and frowns over at Kazama, fingers curling and uncurling in his lap, his gaze intense.  _ He and Kazama are awfully close, huh? _

Hiroyuki glances over at Kazama, eyes scanning over his face. There’s an ugly bruise purpling over his temple, his hair fanned out messily over the pillow.  _ He still looks like a damn model. _

Almost self-consciously, Hiroyuki runs his fingers through his hair, wincing when he feels the waxy residue of melting hair gel, noting how his hair is drooping more than usual. 

Tsukamoto makes a soft noise, and Hiroyuki looks over at him in surprise.  _ Eh?! Tsukamoto fell asleep already? What the hell…  _

Uncomfortably, he realizes that it leaves him alone with his thoughts, and he tries to look down, staring at anything but Kazama.  _ Why did I agree to this? It’s not like I care as much as Tsukamoto does. They’re – close. God, what am I doing here? I’m just an awkward third wheel.  _

Kazama’s head turns, slightly, and Hiroyuki spots it from the corner of his eye. Kazama lets out a soft, pained noise, and Hiroyuki’s traitorous chest fills with worry. 

“Kazama? Oi, Kazama!” He gets to his feet, crossing his arms and glaring down at the blond, who stirs sleepily, blinking up at him with puffy eyes. Kazama glances at him before his gaze lands on Tsukamoto, and the edges of his lips quirk up. Hiroyuki tries to tell himself that he’s not bothered, a little bit, by that dismissal, jabbing a thumb backwards to point at Tsukamoto. 

“This idiot wouldn’t leave me alone until I drove him here to see you,” he starts, almost defensively. “Hey, are you okay though? You scared us, back there –”

“Kurusu,” Kazama interrupts. His voice is hoarse. “There’s something wrong.”

 

* * *

 

The medical talk goes way over Hiroyuki’s head, but he gets the gist of it: Kazama’s hearing is damaged because of his injury. Kazama is quiet, saying nothing, and Hiroyuki frowns, fidgeting awkwardly in the silence. 

Tsukamoto paces the length of the room, hovering around Kazama’s bed as if he wants to reach out to him, but keeps his distance. Tsukamoto’s eyes are wide, fixed on Kazama, who tries to send him a reassuring smile. 

Hiroyuki feels, again, as if he’s intruding, and hurriedly excuses himself with the excuse of buying lunch. 

Once he’s out of the room, he leans back against the wall, staring blankly at the ceiling.  _ What the hell am I doing? _

 

* * *

 

When Hiroyuki gets back, Tsukamoto’s asleep, head pillowed into Kazama’s side. The blond is staring down at him with a soft expression, hand reaching over to card through Tsukamoto’s hair. Hiroyuki freezes, shock running through him.  _ So they’re – that.  _

He tries to tell himself that it’s not a problem, but something about it worms under his skin and bothers him. Memories flood to the surface, lectures from his parents.  _ It’s immoral. Wrong.  _

He glances at Kazama’s eyes, protective and fierce, as if issuing a challenge. Hiroyuki shuffles in, setting down the food on the table, and awkwardly clears his throat. 

“I wasn’t interrupting anything, was I?”

“Don’t be crude,” Kazama scoffs. 

“So,” he tries. “You two –”

“We’re not like that,” Kazama says, hurriedly. Hiroyuki feels relief and guilt roll through him all at once, and he turns away, quickly.  _ Yeah. It’s just me. I can’t expect anyone else to feel the way I do, after all. I keep forgetting.  _

Hiroyuki raises his hands in a placating gesture, shaking his head. 

“It’s – it’s not a problem, y’know, if you, uh – if you are. Which you’re…not.” He pauses, awkwardly. “You’re not, right?”

“No,” Kazama says, flatly, and Hiroyuki wants the ground to open up underneath him.  _ Real smooth.  _

Still, there’s a part of him that’s – not disgusted. He’s uncomfortable, but he – he wants that, on some level. He wants someone to fall asleep on, wants someone to tell him that what he feels is okay.

He’s not  _ jealous _ , but – he’s pretty damn close. 

He breaks out the food, and tries not to let it show. 

 

* * *

 

Kazama gets released from the hospital the next day, and he comes to practice looking paler than usual, the dark bruise standing out against his skin. They’re playing an easy practice game, and when Hiroyuki calls Kazama’s name for a pass, he doesn’t turn. Hiroyuki hesitates, frowning, and passes it to Nitobe, instead.

Something’s off. 

When Mizuki blows the whistle, Kazama winces, hand flying up to his ears, and Hiroyuki stares at him, glancing across the field and meeting Tsukamoto’s worried eyes before he decides to act.  _ Typical. _

He follows Kazama off the field and into the corridor leading into the locker room, passing him a bottle of water and standing not-so-subtly in his way. Hiroyuki hesitates, trying to figure out what to say.

“Hey,” he starts. “You, uh…”

_ Fuck. Shit. Why is this so hard?  _ Frustration wells up in him, and before he realizes it he’s stepping forward, poking a finger against Kazama’s chest.

“Don’t overwork yourself, idiot!” Kazama winces, and Hiroyuki is hit with a small pang of guilt, remembering the way he’d flinched at Mizuki’s whistle.

“I’m fine,” Kazama says, weakly. 

“Like hell you are,” Hiroyuki snarls.  _ Why am I the only sane one on this team? _ “Tsukamoto’s too scared to say anything because he doesn’t want to take away the first change you’ve had to play in weeks, but unlike you two monsters, I’m a normal human being who cares about things other than soccer – like my teammates’ wellbeing. So stop pushing yourself like this!”

Kazama shakes his head minutely, and if he wasn’t injured Hiroyuki would have punched him by now.  _ Why is he so stubborn? _

“What’s it to you, anyways?”

Hiroyuki freezes for a split second, gritting his teeth, because Kazama’s right – why does he care so much, anyways? 

– he’s pretty sure he knows, and he hates himself for it. Kazama takes advantage of his silence, moving to walk away, and Hiroyuki reaches out, grabs Kazama’s wrist, pulling him backwards.  _ Tsukushi does this, doesn’t he? He grabs your wrist and looks at you like you’ve lit up his world.  _

“Oi, what’s your problem?” Kazama says, frustrated.

“What’s  _ your  _ problem? You’re obviously hurt – I can see it. Tsukamoto can see it. Hell, half the team can see it.” Hiroyuki’s not – he’s not  _ smart _ , most of the time, but he’s not  _ stupid _ , either, and he’s angry that Kazama doesn’t see it.  _ Tsukushi’s not the only one who cares about you, dumbass. _

“I’m  _ fine _ ,” Kazama says again, and this time Hiroyuki can’t take it, pushing him backwards, watching him stumble and recollect himself sloppily.  _ You call that fine? _

“Take a break, Kazama.” He takes a deep breath, trying to organize his thoughts. “I’m not the only one who’s worried – you think Tsukamoto wants to see you hurting yourself like this?” Kazama’s eyes flit to the side when he mentions Tsukamoto, and Hiroyuki wants to laugh, a little bitter. He continues, “You’re not  _ alone _ now, dumbass. You have Seiseki – you have the  _ team. _ ” 

_ You have me, if you’d see it, _ he thinks, placing a hand on Kazama’s shoulder.

“We’ve got your back. And when you do need to take time off, we’ll be here, playing extra hard for you. That’s what teams do. That’s what friends do, hell. So  _ take a damn break,  _ geez.”

Kazama is stunned into silence, and Hiroyuki’s hopeful this time.  _ Maybe he’s finally learned to listen to what people are saying.  _ He realizes with a start how close Kazama is to him, how his warmth radiates off his body and into his hand. Hiroyuki draws back, turning red. 

“Oi, don’t just stand there. Say something already!”

“A-ah,” Kazama stutters out, looking down. “Yeah.”

“That’s not a response,” Hiroyuki mutters, sighing. “For someone so smart, you can really be dense sometimes, huh?” He turns away. “Sit it out for the rest of today. Get some rest.”  _ Knowing him, he won’t, though. _

He walks away, leaving a shocked Kazama behind him.

 

* * *

 

Kazama doesn’t come to practice the day after that. 

Hiroyuki pretends it’s not an issue, pretends he doesn’t notice.

Kazama doesn’t show the day after that, either, though, and that’s when he starts to worry. He considers seeking Kazama out himself, but stops himself.  _ He won’t want to hear it from me _ , Hiroyuki thinks, swiping a palm over his eyes.  _ He only ever listens to Tsukamoto, huh? _

He seeks out the forward after practice, leaning back against Tsukamoto’s locker and glaring at him.

“Kazama’s not here,” he says, off-handedly.

Tsukamoto, to his credit, doesn’t burst into tears.  _ That’s a first. _

“I know,” Tsukamoto says, miserably.

“You should talk to him,” Hiroyuki says.  _ Does it have something to do with his injury? _

“I don’t think he wants to talk to me,” Tsukamoto says, nervously. 

Hiroyuki sighs, lightly patting Tsukamoto’s shoulder. “Kazama always wants to talk to you.” 

Tsukamoto only shrugs, packing up his tracksuit into his bag.

“Seriously,” Hiroyuki says. “I don’t think it’s you. It – it wouldn’t be you.” Tsukamoto looks at him doubtfully, and something bubbles behind Hiroyuki’s lips, slipping out before he can help it.

“Do you like Kazama?” 

“Kurusu-kun!” Tsukamoto jumps a little bit, glancing at Hiroyuki fearfully.  _ Don’t look at me like that, damn it! _

“I’m – I’m just wondering. It’s not my problem. It’s – it’s not a problem, if you do.”  _ At least we’d have something in common, huh?  _

“Kazama-kun is a very good friend,” Tsukamoto starts, and Hiroyuki interrupts him.

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

Tsukamoto is silent for a very long time, which is answer enough. Hiroyuki kicks off of the locker, getting to his feet fully, and stretches. There’s a pang in his chest that eats away at him, as if he’s being hollowed out. Still, he puts on a smile.

“He feels the same way, y’know,” he says, glancing over at Tsukamoto’s wide eyes, the blush rising in his face, before walking away.

_ This better have been the right thing to do. _

 

* * *

 

Unsurprisingly, Kazama’s back on the pitch the next day. Something’s putting a spring in his step, and Hiroyuki’s almost certain he knows what’s happened. He pushes aside the thoughts buzzing about his head, walking up to Kazama and clapping him on the shoulder amiably.

“When I said take a break, I didn’t mean ditch practice, dumbass.” Kazama scoffs, but he’s smiling.

“As if I need the practice anyways,” Kazama says, self-satisfied, and smiles through Hiroyuki’s glare.

“Still, welcome back,” Hiroyuki says, eyes grazing Kazama’s face before looking away.

“It’s good to be back,” Kazama says, before he hesitates. “And Kurusu – thank you.”

Hiroyuki stares at him, shaking his head.  _ You don’t know what you’re thanking me for, do you?  _ He flicks Kazama on the forehead, feeling smug when the blond winces, rubbing his head with a hand.  _ It’s for the better that you don’t know. _

It doesn’t feel that way, though.

Tsukamoto runs over to them, and Hiroyuki’s suddenly gripped with the urge to flee.

“Kurusu-kun, you’re not being mean to Kazama-kun, are you?” 

Kazama laughs, putting an arm around Tsukamoto’s shoulder. “Nah, Kurusu’s just playing around.” Kazama winks at him and slides a hand up Tsukamoto’s neck, across his collarbone, and Hiroyuki swallows, tries not to give anything away. He goes red, but not for the right reasons.

“So, you–” he starts, glancing at Tsukamoto.

“Looks like it,” Kazama interrupts. Hiroyuki tries not to stare, looking away with gritted teeth, stuffing his hands in his pockets.  _ It’s none of my business, anyways. They’re happy, and that’s what’s important.  _

Hiroyuki makes a half-hearted quip, and Mizuki blows the whistle to resume the game.

The second half ends quickly, with a joint attack from Kazama and Hiroyuki leading to Tsukamoto scoring a goal, and for once Hiroyuki’s on the pitch, watching Kazama up close score, and the rush of victory dulls some of the ache that’d been plaguing him all day. He runs up to Kazama, bumping him amiably on the shoulder. _ It’s enough. _

Tsukamoto runs up and Kazama congratulates him, raising a hand to run through Tsukamoto’s hair. Hiroyuki brings a hand up to his face, swiping over his eyes.  _ Get a grip. _

“Public displays of affection are prohibited on the pitch,” he hisses, and Kazama laughs.

“Prohibited? That’s a long word, Kurusu. I’m proud.” Kazama looks around, eyes sharp, before leaning in to quickly press a kiss to Tsukamoto’s forehead. Tsukamoto beams, and they’re so  _ happy _ that Hiroyuki has to turn away, lips quirking bitterly to the side.  _ I don’t have a place here, after all.  _

“You two are disgusting,” he mutters, jokingly.

“Jealous?” Kazama asks, and Hiroyuki almost trips, eyes widening. Luckily, he’s turned away. 

_ You’d be surprised. _

It’s okay, he tells himself. What he feels will fade, and it – it’ll be okay, as long as Kazama and Tsukamoto are happy. 

(– somehow, he doesn’t quite believe it.)

 


End file.
